In From the Rain
by BellaMonte
Summary: Late one rainy night, Bilbo Baggins receives the shock of his life when he opens the door to an unexpected visitor. Frodo-sick fic. Non-slash. HurtComfort.


Title: In From the Rain  
  
Author: BellaMonte  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Disclaimer: I own not the characters, they are the property of one J.R.R. Tolkien  
  
Summary: Late one rainy night, Bilbo receives the shock of his life when he opens the door to Bag End and finds an unexpected visitor.  
  
  
  
Frodo sick fic, complete with an actual balance between hurt/comfort. Enjoy!   
  
To Tangelian, who's waited sooo long for TcaM. This isn't exactly it, but hope it will suffice until my muse comes back for that one. :)  
  
~*~  
  
"What in the world . . .Frodo!"  
  
Shock pummeled Bilbo Baggins with a blast of cold wind. He knelt down to the tiny figure huddled before his doorway, dripping wet and shivering.   
  
The little hobbit launched himself into his uncle's arms immediately, sobs replacing the apologizes and explanations he'd planned to greet his uncle with. By the Shire, he'd made it. . . after so many long, wearing hours wandering in the dark and rain he had found Bag End. He had begun to fear he never would.   
  
"Frodo what in Middle Earth are you doing here?" Bilbo's voice, loud and hoarse with bewilderment, penetrated the thick haze of relief that was making his ears feel as though they were stuffed with cotton. Frodo opened his mouth to speak just as his tired legs gave way.   
  
Bilbo was quick to catch the little hobbit before he collapsed upon his doorstep, an action which halted him from another demand of, 'What are you doing here in Hobbiton in the middle of the night?' Yet bewilderment was swept aside as he took in the boy's choking, desperate breaths and his cold, shivering form.   
  
"Oh, my boy. . . shhh, it's all right, whatever it is" Bilbo said, gathering the lad in his arms.   
  
His nephew was wet through, shirt and vest clinging to him and his hair raining drops of rain from his dark curls. Bilbo could feel his own vest growing damp as the lad clung to him.  
  
"Frodo, what are you DOING here?" Bilbo stammered. Steading the boy by his shoulders, he pulled him away for a moment so that his wet eyes met his. "It's middle of the night and. . . you're alone!"   
  
The realization finally struck him with a blow to the stomach as he glanced out into the black night and saw no one was accompanying the lad.   
  
"Mmm-hmm," Frodo sniffed in response   
  
"Alone! Frodo, but . . .how!?" Bilbo exclaimed. How could the lad possibly have ended up here at his door step in the middle of the night? He couldn't possibly have wandered from Buckland. . . could he?  
  
Suddenly, Frodo drew his face away and let out a gigantic sneeze. Bilbo was immediately jerked out of his astonishment again. Not waiting for Frodo to respond, Bilbo quickly gathered the boy into his arms, closing the door after glancing out again to see nothing but the black, pouring night.   
  
Quickly, Bilbo carried the lad into the den. A fire blazed in the hearth nearby to where he'd set his little writing desk.   
  
Thank goodness his muse had been inspired to stay up so late this night to write, otherwise he never would have heard the soft, tentative knocks at his door.   
  
Frodo suddenly squirmed as Bilbo moved to set him down on the couch. "N-no uncle, don't!" he protested, his voice raspy. "I'll make the couch wet! I can just sit on the floor. ."   
  
"It's all right Bilbo, it's fine," Bilbo said, absently gathering a blanket to lay beneath him before setting him down Grabbing a blanket draped over a nearby chair, he wrapped the boy within its folds. His eyes grew grave with anxiety as he saw how the boy shook like a leaf, his skin pale and clammy to the touch.   
  
"Frodo, how did you get here?" he remonstrated. "You. . . you didn't wander here from Buckland, did you?"  
  
Anxiously, the older hobbit peered into his nephew's face, hoping for reassurance that it was not so. It couldn't be. . . it would have taken him more than a day to get here on foot. . . he couldn't have come from there. . .   
  
"No," Frodo whispered, shaking his head. Bilbo expelled a sigh of relief. "From Tookland."   
  
"Tookland!" Bilbo choked. "What happened?"   
  
Two blue eyes raised, glazed with tears. Reluctantly Frodo opened his mouth to speak, but before he could his chest palpitated slightly and a rough cough erupted from him, followed by a stream of tears.   
  
Pity wrenched at the older hobbit's heart, and he found himself refraining once again from pressing questions. At the miserable, wretched state his nephew was in, something bad had obviously happened. Sitting on the couch himself, he pulled the trembling hobbit into another hug, resting his chin on the lad's wet curls. "Oh my lad," he said with mild exasperation. "Well, it's wonderful to see you! I know it's been several months since Yule. . ."   
  
"I was afraid I wouldn't find you!" Frodo said, burying his face into his uncle's warm, scratchy coat. "It started to rain and I didn't think I could find your home in the dark!"   
  
  
  
"Well you did, my boy, you did," he said, emphatically. "And not a moment too soon." Pulling back, Bilbo took note that despite the quilt, the lad was still shivering, his cheeks red and burned from the searing winds. "Here, let's get you out of these wet clothes. I don't have any of your birthday clothes made yet, so you'll have to settle for one of my old nightshirts."   
  
Nodding, the lad took his uncle's hand and followed him down the hall. Seating Frodo in a chair in a room close to his, Bilbo shuffled through a few drawers where he knew he'd placed some of his old clothes from earlier years. Bilbo sighed as he discarded the lad's damp clothing onto a nearby chair and helped the lad into a warm cotton nightshirt. Even though it had fit him perfectly in his tweenage years, Frodo was much smaller and thinner than he had been, and the lad nearly tripped, the nightshirt trailing on the ground as he walked.   
  
Settling for carrying the lad back into the den, Bilbo set him down at the dry end of the couch. "Just stay here," he said softly, wrapping him in a fresh quilt. "I'll get you something warm to drink."   
  
Frodo nodded, an action immediately followed by another sharp sneeze. Smiling, Bilbo handed him a handkerchief and as the lad took it he noticed his hands tremble.   
  
The poor lad, he looked so wet and miserable. His cheeks were ruddy with the cold, and his eyes held some fresh sadness yet to be explained. But first he had to get something warm into him. Quickly, Bilbo headed to the kitchen and went about heating some water. From the den he could hear a few fresh sneezes, followed by what sounded like a quick sob.   
  
Bilbo's heart jerked afresh. He still could not believe his nephew had wandered here from Tookland, let along what could have possibly driven him to do so alone and in the cold, driving rain? No one knew where he was, Bilbo was sure. But before he could think more of it, the water had begun to boil and Bilbo hurriedly fixed the tea.   
  
Returning to the den, he found Frodo curled up at the edge of the couch, clutching the quilt about him tightly and rubbing at a red, dripping nose.   
  
Seating himself beside the lad, Bilbo waited for the boy to drink the tea while he busied himself by toweling off the wet, dripping curls.   
  
"Now," he began, setting the cup down and wrapped his arms about the boy. "What's driven you to call upon me at such a late hour?"   
  
"Well," Frodo began, his voice still awfully raspy, even after drinking the tea. "There was a party at Tookland today. One of my older cousins, and me and all my cousins from Buckland were invited."   
  
"Oh yes, I was supposed to attend, wasn't I?" Bilbo interjected, believing he understood what this was about. "I'm sorry lad, I received the invitation, but I was expecting a visit from my cousin Fosco "   
  
"No no, uncle, it wasn't that," Frodo said, looking up at his uncle and offering him the first trace of a smile. "I wasn't expecting you to come. . .no, I mean, I already knew you weren't," he added. Bilbo smiled to see color returning to his cheeks. "Aunt Esmy told us you had other engagements."   
  
"Then what is it, lad? For I'm assuming no one knows you're here," Bilbo stated.   
  
The damp, curly head nodded slightly. Giving the lad a careful nudge, Bilbo pressed him to continue. Any moment he was sure more knocks would be heard on his door, opened up to a very wet, very enraged Saradoc Brandybuck.   
  
"Well," Frodo said, his voice growing a bit stronger. "Some of my cousins were there who I don't see very often. from Tookland, I mean. A few were really nice, like Ponto and Fatty, and they showed me and everyone around. But a few. . . they were really mean. We were sitting in the study and one of the older boys came up to me and started making fun. . ." Frodo sniffed, rubbing at his face again. "They started making fun of me. Of what. . . of what happened to Mama and Papa."   
  
Anger slowly began to stir beneath the worry lines in Bilbo's face, and he instinctively tightened his hold around the boy's shoulders. What insolence. . hadn't this lad suffered enough at the cruel hands of fate, having his dear parents taken away from him to have to endure insults from cruel brats?  
  
"Who were these lads, Frodo?" Bilbo questioned .   
  
Frodo sniffed again, vigorously rubbing at his running nose. He willingly accepted the second handkerchief Bilbo pressed into his hands.   
  
"It was. . ." reluctance stole into the lad's voice and he faltered.   
  
"Frodo," Bilbo said, firmly. "You've run away from home and will most likely be in a world of trouble soon with your Uncle Saradoc if you don't tell me now what happened, so I'll have an explanation to give him when he comes here. I know you would not be here unless it was under the most serious circumstances. Now tell me, lad, who was teasing you?"   
  
Frodo seemed to sense the anger in his uncle's voice (hopefully aware that it wasn't directed at him) and quietly responded, "Fredegar."   
  
"Fredegar!" Bilbo exclaimed. He felt the boy instinctively stiffen in his arms. "The host of the party?"   
  
  
  
"Mmm-hmmm," he said, nodding. "He and a few other Tookland. hobbits came up to me and started asking whether. . . whether I'd seen it happen and if it was true that Papa pushed Mama out of the boat and "   
  
Tears were gathering in the boy's throat again, and he paused to swallow. Already his uncle was inwardly seething, though he did not let on as he allowed the boy to continue.   
  
"And I told him it wasn't true! That the waters were rough and boat tipped on its own. . and they didn't believe me! It was a group of about six of them and they were all laughing and saying my parents were just plain stupid to go out on a boat and that they deserved to die. . ."   
  
"Oh Frodo," Bilbo remonstrated, pressing the boy closer to him and rubbing his shoulders, reassuringly. He knew the lad was crying now. Fumbling for a third and fourth handkerchief, he laid one in the boy's hands and used the other to press to his own eyes.   
  
"And. . . and then," Frodo continued, when his uncle had heard enough to understand why he'd run away, however haphazardly. "I got really mad, and I . . I don't know, I. . .I sort of punched him. ."   
  
"Frodo," Bilbo began.   
  
"But I didn't really hurt him, uncle," Frodo protested, looking up at him, beseechingly. "I didn't hit him that hard, in fact I almost missed. But all of a sudden Uncle Rorimac came in and Fredegar started crying, saying that I attacked him for not liking the present he'd given me. And it wasn't true! But Uncle Rorimac didn't believe me and said I needed to be punished for lying and hitting Fredegar on his birthday."   
  
Suddenly, a hard knot started to build in Bilbo's chest as he understood where this was going. "How did they punish you, Frodo," he said, his face darkening in anger.   
  
Frodo brought his hand up, the long, red lines vivid against his white palm. "I was hit with the switch."   
  
Fury swelled in the hobbit's chest, and he had force back a growl of anger as he took the small hand in his own. By the Shire, these lines were deep and seemed to have bled earlier. "How many times did you strike you, lad?" he asked, tonelessly.   
  
"I don't know," Frodo said, sneezing again. "I lost count. . . maybe ten."   
  
Bilbo sighed, the sound coming out more like a hiss. "And where was your Aunt and Uncle through all this?" he demanded, knowing Frodo's Aunt and Uncle Saradoc would never let Frodo be punished with the stitch, especially when they were Frodo's true guardians and had responsibility for him. Plus, they knew all too well about the teasing Frodo used to cope with. At Bilbo's insistence, they had made sure all relatives knew not to taunt him at Brandy Hall.   
  
The little shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I don't know, uncle. It all happened so fast. I suppose they were still at elevenses. I don't think they knew. But Uncle Rorimac said he was going to go tell Uncle Saradoc and I'd get punished again, and so I " Frodo was speaking rapidly, a far cry from the silent, shivering hobbit that nearly collapsed on his doorstep. "You're not mad, are you?"   
  
"No, Frodo," Bilbo said after a moment. "Not at you, anyway," he added, seeing the fear livid in the boy's large blue eyes. He tightened his arms about him in reassurance. "You've been quite dramatic in running away like this, but I understand why you'd want to leave. Oh but Frodo, you shouldn't have," he said, gesturing to the fact that he was still shivering slightly. "You're wet and cold, and you're sneezing like crazy. You could've gotten yourself in far worse trouble, had you not found me. But. . but you did," he added, relenting at seeing the lad had been scolded enough this day. "I'm relieved you're here."  
  
Frodo pressed his face into the crook of his uncle's arm. "I knew you'd understand," he whispered.   
  
Bilbo sighed, warmth spreading through him at the unrelenting love and trust his nephew had for him. Though he had done something foolish and dangerous indeed, running away from his relatives in such dreadful weather. If he had left at elevenses then he must have been wandering in the rain for hours. No doubt Saradoc Brandybuck would be knocking on his door, if not tonight than in the morning, knowing full well where his rambunctious nephew had gone.   
  
Bilbo would be more than ready to reveal to the Master of Buckland what had happened, and intended to suggest that the lad stay here for a few days to relax before returning to Brandy Hall.   
  
For a few moments the two hobbits sat in silence, with Frodo sneezing a few more times and Bilbo digesting all that he had heard. Soon the tea began to settle in, and Bilbo could feel the boy's frame growing limp within his hold, his eyes drooping languidly as they gazed into the fire.   
  
"Here, let's get you to bed," Bilbo said, softly. "Now I want you to get a good rest tonight, and not think about any of it, anything that those cruel lads said or what Rorimac did. It will be settled in the morning, I promise."   
  
Frodo nodded, rubbing his eyes blearily. He allowed Bilbo to lift him up, and carry him into the room where he had previously changed out of his wet clothes.   
  
"Why are we going back in here?" he asked, turning to his uncle in puzzlement.   
  
"To go to bed of course," Bilbo replied, seating the boy in his lap as he began pulling down the covers.   
  
"Oh, but I can just sleep on the sofa uncle," Frodo said. The sudden understanding of what he'd actually done entreated upon his uncle at such an untimely hour, probably woken him from sleep and putting him at risk of anger from his Uncle Saradoc later Frodo felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment. He squirmed slightly in his uncle's hold, though the movement was slow and lethargic. "Really, Uncle, I'll just sleep there."   
  
Bilbo laughed. "Nonsense, Frodo lad," he said, shaking his head and depositing him on the soft mattress. "Now I'll be in the next room. If you need anything, if you're still sneezing a lot and need more handkerchiefs, just come and let me know."   
  
Frodo nodded slowly as Bilbo tucked last of the covers up to the boy's chin.  
  
"You're really not mad, uncle?" he asked, already drifting off.   
  
Bilbo tried to smile as he gazed down at his adorable, albeit reckless hobbit whom he loved so dearly. "Of course not," he said, leaning down to give him a soft kiss on his brow. "I'm just glad you didn't get hurt, that's all."   
  
This last reassurance brought a small smile to the hobbit, and he snuggled under the covers, his eyes falling closed at their own accord. Bilbo sat with him for a few moments, making sure he was asleep and comfortable before he rose and went to blow out the dying fire in the den for the night.   
  
TBC  
  
Oh dear. . .silly Bilbo not recognizing symptoms of illness when it perks up. . . ehhh. . .   
  
Hope you enjoyed! This, along with literally three or four new fics have sparked my attention recently, and I intend to start all of them this spring break. (chants to self): Just two weeks left! Just two weeks left! 


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